mood

It breaks my heart to see the effect
my Storms have on you
the screen door didn't hold again, and i'm sorry.

these weather systems roll in like bad breath;
unharkened, unwelcome and all consuming
psychic infections that fever and gout my sullen face,
rage below the sternum
and pollute the pressured words that dribble out
hunting for validation and solace

i see the long game
and I wish you could see that I see the long game

we could be twins, joined in the hope that comes
from seeing the firmaments and frameworks that bond
the relative to the Absolute;

the place that seeds and holds the polluted rooms *and* the holy ones;
a mansion without foundation or walls or ceilings,
the place were translation bows to transformation

into the arms of Mary and Guan Yin
where I can watch parables and sutras wed
as poetry and music braid themselves
into impossibly beautiful Mobius strips of the heart

where in spite of the storms, perhaps *because* of the storms
spiritual context flows like sweet warm milk
nursing me back to Original face,
a full heart
and love